


Carrying the World on His Shoulders

by stevie_RST



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Gen, Holmes Brothers feels, Implied/Referenced Drug Addiction, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Mycroft Being a Good Brother, POV Mycroft Holmes, Pre-Series, based on fanart, first fic, super short
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-17
Updated: 2016-07-17
Packaged: 2018-07-24 11:50:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 472
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7507204
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stevie_RST/pseuds/stevie_RST
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mycroft will always protect his brother Sherlock and carry him home.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Carrying the World on His Shoulders

**Author's Note:**

  * For [whimsycatcher](https://archiveofourown.org/users/whimsycatcher/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Three Times Mycroft Carried Sherlock](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/213691) by whimsycatcher. 



> This is a short fic I wrote and I'm happy with how it turned out. It's one of the first fics I have written and the first that I'm posting here! It is based on awesome Sherlock fanart by @whimsycatcher on tumblr, check out all of her amazing art!  
> And thank you @greyywaren on tumblr for beta-reading it for me!  
> Enjoy!!

Mycroft sighs as he hauls Sherlock's unconscious form onto his back, carrying his brother like he has done so many times. He staggers under Sherlock's dead weight as he gets his footing and wraps his arms under his younger brother's knees. It's an action that is more muscle memory than conscious thought. Mycroft has carried his brother on his back so many times that it's fitting he do it now.

As he starts quietly walking away, Mycroft reminisces on simpler times when carrying Sherlock was not such a grave matter. When it was because his younger brother fell asleep under a tree while wearing his pirate costume, eye patch and all, when they were children. Mycroft remembers the fond affection towards his brother, soundly asleep, but still gripping his shoulders to stay put. Or when Mycroft had to come to his brother's rescue when childish bullies made fun of him for his genius deductions and introverted nature. Mycroft remembers throwing a heated glare at the bullies as he strode away with Sherlock on his back clenching his arms about his big brother's neck. Mycroft realizes that the punk phase he was going through aided in his ability to intimidate the bullies. Couple a glare with wearing leather, and a cigarette behind the ear to subdue the children who battered and bruised his brother.

But now Sherlock is limp on Mycroft's back; he would be more concerned than he currently is, if not for feeling Sherlock's shallow breaths against his neck. Sherlock’s pulse is sluggish when Mycroft holds his right wrist before letting Sherlock’s arm dangle over his shoulder.  As he continues walking, Mycroft looks down at Sherlock's left arm, littered with needle tracks and mottled bruises. He quickly glances away, feeling a flood of emotions, and wanting to keep them boarded up. Further acknowledgement of sentiment would cause everything—including his carefully constructed façade of detachment—to crumble.

In this moment, it's as if he is Atlas, carrying the world on his shoulders. Glancing back at his brother's pale face, hidden by dark fringe and ratty hood, Mycroft realizes, quite literally, that he is. Looking out for his brother is part of his world. He has spent his life promising himself that he would take care of Sherlock, but only feels regret for apparently not doing enough. For not realizing sooner that his brother needs him. Sherlock never asks for help, being too stubborn and prideful to do so. Mycroft sarcastically wonders where those traits came from, knowing full well that they are shared Holmesian attributes.

Looking up, Mycroft realises that he hasn’t trekked very far, but is almost to the exit of the decrepit warehouse. When he reaches the exit, Mycroft eases his way out the door into a rainy London night, his feet quiet as he trudges down the alley.


End file.
